Gemotions

He moved through the house like a ghost, his hand trailing across the wallpaper, the worn wood of the banister. Each touch a farewell. The demolition crew was scheduled to arrive next week. He had spent the morning, and the previous days, in a daze, just wandering the familiar rooms.

A weight pressed on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He picked up a chipped teacup from the kitchen counter, turning it over in his hands. His mother's favorite. He remembered her hands, small and graceful, holding it as she’d tell him stories.

He sat in the living room, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams as he stared at the fireplace. He closed his eyes. The scent of wood smoke, the crackle of the flames, the warmth spreading through his body… all gone, erased. He wondered if he’d ever feel light again.